


Human Heart

by TheStrange_One



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Justice League - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Broken Bruce, Interdimensional Travel, M/M, Native Bruce, Prison, Remembered Violence, Talking, cell - Freeform, death of a child, emotion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:53:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22780558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheStrange_One/pseuds/TheStrange_One
Summary: Superman has taken over the world. In a desperate attempt to stop him, a mad scientist punches a hole into another dimension and pulls out its Batman. Things do not go as the scientist expects.
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 13
Kudos: 107





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Bruce Wayne/Clark Kent fic, so please be kind.

This particular hallway of the League Satellite was kept dark. The dim lighting deterred most escape attempts, as most humans—even those with powers—felt a peculiar vulnerability in the darkness. Not so with the most recent—visitor.

Kal-el frowned as he made his way down the corridor, his eyes easily seeing through the darkness. There were many things that did not add up about the new visitor to this section. Many things that just weren’t right.

After the split, when Batman had gone on the run, they’d had few leads. Every single time he or one of his allies got to where Batman had been the masked crusader was gone. Rumors flew and disrupted the peace that Kal-el had fought so hard to establish amongst the masses. The whole thing was a mess of subterfuge, sabotage, and rumors.

Then, suddenly, they found him. They managed to track down a scientist who claimed he was going to summon a savior from the evil Superman.

Kal-el mentally snorted. Evil Superman. As though those he’d destroyed had deserved pity.

He’d done something though. His machine had opened a portal to—somewhere—and out came Batman. Or rather Bruce Wayne. Because although the man was in the suit, his helmet was off. Batman never took his helmet off when there were people around, but this man didn’t seem to think much of it.

And then there was what happened when they’d grabbed him. He didn’t fight, yell, or try to run away. He just hung there limply and did what he was told, like he was broken.

Kal-el had mixed feelings about that. On the one hand, a broken Bat was not a problem. A broken Bat was not going to be sowing seeds of dissent or trying to organize a rebellion.

On the other, the two of them _had_ been friends, at the very least. He didn’t want to see his friend in trouble, or sad. But this could not keep on like it had been.

He stopped in front of the cell that Batman was locked in. The costumed hero was slumped over, arms resting on his legs as he stared despondently at the floor in front of him. His eyes, from what Kal-el could see, were shadowed and there were thin lines of pain around the stubborn mouth. “Hi Clark,” he said, without looking up. “Is this my intervention?”

Kal-el was not prepared for the stab of emotion from the sound of his former name. He could remember far more intimate times when that name was spoken—times it had been spoken with a smile, a laugh, or a pleasant gasp. He almost couldn't focus on the question: intervention? What was Batman talking about?

No, Kal-el decided as he looked at the shaggy head in front of him. This wasn’t Batman—this was Bruce. And Bruce, who had always been sure to be perfectly meticulous in how  he appeared to other people was unkempt. His hair was a little too long, and ragged as though bits had been hacked off. There was a subtle line of stubble on his face, where he hadn’t shaved. The suit too, the suit was wrinkled and had spots that, in any other color, would have been stains.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Clark, Kal-el asked.

Bruce rubbed his face with a hand. “I was in the lab,” he said wearily, “with my latest  unhealthy coping mechanism and a portal opened, sucking me through. Then you came.”

Coping mechanism. For what? Clark kept his voice even and his tone as level as possible as he spoke. “You were abducted from your world.” Bruce looked up and there was the oddest glimmer in his eyes, almost like hope. “We’re looking into a way to send you back,” Clark added.

The hope died and Bruce slumped over again. “Kay,” he said wearily.

“Try to get some sleep Bruce,” Clark said kindly. “I’ll be back soon.” He turned and headed to the bridge, knowing that Diana had been recording everything.

Diana leaned against the console as little Damian, abandoned by his true father, worked the controls. The controls and his expression; Clark recognized the  carefully blank expression from when the boy was first brought to the satellite, and his heart twisted. The boy shouldn't have to deal with this on top of having his own father reject him.

“Do you think it’s true?” Diana asked coldly. Once, the three of them had been friends. Now she hated Bruce almost as much as he hated them.

“I believe that scientist was trying to summon another Batman to help the one that’s here overthrow us.” At the controls Damian twitched and Clark gently laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder. No matter what the boy’s father said or did, Damian would have a place in the satellite as long as he wished to.

Diana snorted. “This one seems to be broken,” she said, echoing Clark—no,  _Kal-el’s_ own observation with vicious satisfaction. Then again—Diana had reason to hate Batman. To hate Bruce.

“He does.” Clark turned to the feed, trained on the cell where Bruce still sat, in that same defeated slump. The sight stirred something in him, something he’d thought had died. “I’ll see if I can find out what happened later.”

“The Russian Prime Minister has sent a message inquiring if you would be up to a press conference, to dictate the changes you have demanded they make in their educational system,” Damian said calmly as he brought up the coordinates of the proposed site on the screen.

Clark couldn't help but notice that the image of Bruce had merely been shrunk to a small corner of the large screen. He did not bring attention to it. “Does he?” he asked mildly. “If only all the countries were that accommodating.”

“On another note, LexCorp have requested—politely this time—that you grace a small service with a eulogy.”

Diana smirked at the screen. Kal-el couldn't help but note that her eyes were not on the information that Damian was bringing up, but on the small image of the captured and broken Bruce in the corner. “Are you going to do it?” she asked.

Was he? At one time, he and Lex had been friends. Best friends, in spite of the fact that Clark had been a poor farm boy and Lex had been the heir to one of the most powerful corporations on the planet. Even now, after all this time, he wasn’t certain where the relationship had soured. Why Lex had become his enemy. And sometimes, even though he would never admit it to either Diana or Damian, he wondered if there had been another way to end that conflict.

“Perhaps. Does the Russian Prime Minister have a time for that press conference?” asked Kal-el.

Damian, ever the perfect worker, called the information back up for Kal-el despite the frequent glances at their captured Bruce. “He would like to set it up at your earliest convenience,” Damian said primly.

Kal-el nodded. According to their global clock, Russia was in its early morning. “Contact him back and schedule a meeting in three hours from now. And Damian.” The boy twisted in his seat looking at Kal-el for the first time since Kal-el had entered the room.  He softened his voice to the young one. “You will always have a place here,” he said gently.

Damian bit his lip and nodded and Kal-el looked at Diana. “Keep an eye on things?” he asked her.

She grimaced. “Don’t ask me to talk to him,” she said grimly.

His lips turned up in a smile. “I’m asking you not to kill him,” he said gently before he turned and left. He had a press conference, after all.

Kal-el took a chair with him for his next visit. He didn’t think he’d get the answers he needed from Broken Bruce if he was looming over the man. He set the chair up in front of the cell and carefully settled into it. Broken Bruce did not look like he had moved. Kal-el wondered if the man had even slept.

If it had been the Batman  _here_ , Kal-el knew the man wouldn't have slept because he would have been too wary. Too busy looking around; looking for a way to escape. Never mind there was no way to escape the satellite now.

_This_ Bruce, Broken Bruce, looked as if he hadn’t slept because to lay the body down for sleep would require moving. “You don’t look like you’ve gotten any sleep,” Kal-el pointed out. He didn’t mean to—but he always had trouble reigning in his tongue when talking to Bruce.

Broken Bruce’s eyes fluttered slightly. “I can’t stand the images in my brain,” he confessed. “When I close my eyes, they’re all I see.”

What? What was Broken Bruce seeing? What had happened to his poor friend?

There would be time for that later. Diana had, rightfully, told Kal-el that he needed to explain to Broken Bruce why he was in a cell. According to her and Damian, Broken Bruce wasn’t eating, wasn’t drinking, and would soon collapse in an unrecoverable state. As much as they disliked their own Bruce at the moment, there was something that struck all of them as wrong watching this one die.  After all, this wasn’t the Bruce that had attacked them, rejected them, and was trying to destroy them.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed,” Kal-el said after a moment, “that you’re in a prison cell.”

“No,” said Bruce, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. Another hint that this was Bruce and not the Bat; Bruce had no problem showing any kind of emotion, but the Bat was always stoic. “It got by me.”

Clark ignored the sarcasm. “There’s a reason for it,” he said earnestly, willing  _this_ Bruce to listen. “Our Batman…went insane.” Broken Bruce looked up and he continued, “He’s attacked all of us, and tried to kill all of us.”

“What,” Broken Bruce was clearly in shock. “But that’s—why?”

Something about that plaintive cry cracked Kal-el back into Clark. “I don’t know,” he admitted, hanging his own head. Both and Bruce had agreed that something needed to be done about Lex. The man had gone insane, was destroying lives, and had even turned his sights upon the League itself. They hadn’t even realized they had an enemy until after several of them had already perished. Green Lantern. Green Arrow. Flash. And Lex would. Not. Stop. There had been no choice, and Bruce’s betrayal afterwards had stung far deeper than he’d wanted to admit. Clark cleared his throat before continuing. “I was all right, well, I usually am. Diana had a close call though—”

Broken Bruce’s eyes snapped fully open and he stared at Clark before blurting, “Diana’s alive?!”

Clark looked up in his own surprise. “Yes,” he said uncertainly. “Isn’t she where you’re from?”

For the first time Broken Bruce sits up. He leans back against the thin cot to where he’s leaning against the wall. Clark can’t help but take this as a good sign. “No,” said Bruce, his voice hoarse and sad. “She’s not.”

“What happened?”

Bruce gave a harsh, dry chuckle. “I’m not sure. We didn’t eve know anything was wrong, at first. One day Oliver  missed to check in, but you know Arrow. He’s a little…” Bruce’s voice trailed off.

Bruce never did like criticizing the others, even when it came to helping them train. “Flighty?” suggested Clark.

A harsh bark of a chuckle. “Flighty. As good of a term as any.  Next to miss check in was Hal, but we all thought that he’d been contacted on a Lantern thing.” Bruce grimaced. “They don’t really like the League much.”

“And if they don’t have to deal with us they don’t,” Clark finished. A part of him ached. It felt _so good_ to be talking to Bruce again, even though he was seeing the beginning of what he’d managed to stop here, in this world.

Bruce sighed and rubbed his face again. “We didn’t know anything was wrong,” he repeated. “We thought—God, it seems stupid by now, but we thought we would know if something bad had happened to them.”  Another broken laugh. “We were so  _stupid_ . We thought that just because Hal and Oliver are famous we’d know.”

Clark couldn't quite breathe. It was almost just like what had happened here, what he’d managed to stop. His heart reached out to Bruce, to the man who was so protective of his teammates that he filled in as a father for many of them.  Scolding both Hal and Oliver for acting impulsively, teaching Barry and the others fighting techniques in addition to their powers. Listening as Clark himself rambled about all the things he couldn't do, the people that, even with all his power, he hadn’t been able to save.

“Then Barry missed check in, and we _knew_ something was wrong.”

Of course they did.  Barry was fast talking and fast moving, always had a smart quip for the situation—but he was also meticulous. He, more than any of the others, understood the point of check in. Barry missing check in had been when Clark had first noticed something was wrong as well—and shortly before they found the bodies.

B roken Bruce’s eyes closed and he looked—haunted, haggard. Clark wanted to reassure the man, but wasn’t sure how. “I’m still not certain what happened,” he said sadly. “One day the people just—turned on us. We went from being heroes and protectors to villains and forces of destruction. It got so bad that you—well, my world’s you—made the world an offer. All the heroes would retire to the satellite and would just—leave. They’d never have to see us again.”

Clark’s heart sunk as he wondered just how bad things had been for  _him_ to make that offer.  He believed that everyone could be helped, that situations like that were only a matter of waiting it out. What had happened?

He didn’t ask, and Broken Bruce didn’t answer. “The world accepted it. I thought—I thought that the world only didn’t want  _super_ heroes, that those of us without power would be safe.” His head dropped again. “I was wrong,” he admitted.

Had Clark ever heard Batman  _or_ Bruce admit being wrong before? He knew, they all knew, that the Bat and his alter ego were fallible, but it was one thing to know it and quite another to  _admit_ it. Just another sign of how this Bruce was broken.  Another sign of how this Bruce had been failed.

“It started with someone leaking Barbara’s identity.” Bruce sighed. “I don’t even know how they found it,” he admitted. “I never found out how. And Barbara’s not even in the game anymore! She was still in rehab after—after what the Joker did to her.”

This Clark knew. “The Joker is a madman Bruce,” he said as kindly as he could. “You can’t predict what a madman will do.”

“I should have been able to,” Bruce said wearily. “I should have stopped it, I should have gotten there—I should have found out someone was embezzling my funds to Arkham long before this!” Bruce snarled.

“I’m sorry Bruce,” Clark said as gently as he could.

Broken Bruce looked up, looked back down, and tucked his head under the shelter of his hands before he continued. “Alfred was taking Barbara to her rehabilitation appointment. It didn’t look odd, you know, for Wayne to fund her recovery since her dad and I were so close.” Bruce’s eyes stared out from the shade provided from his hands and looked positively  _haunted_ . “The mob closed in on them. They literally ripped her out of the wheelchair and apart. Alfred he—he tried to save her, but…” Bruce’s voice trailed off.

Alfred had raised Bruce. The man was like a father, mother, and protector all in one. The only person that both Bruce and Batman looked at with nothing less than respect. Clark could only imagine how horrific it had been for Bruce learning how Alfred had died.

“I got the boys up to the satellite,” Bruce said. “I couldn't—I couldn't wait for them. I got all of them, Jason, Tim, and Damian up there.” A wry smile twisted Bruce’s face. “Damian didn’t want to go. He thought it made him look weak to run—but he needed to be safe.” Another, broken laugh escaped Broken Bruce. “I should have known better,” the man admitted as tears fell down his cheeks. “I would have been with them, would have made sure they _stayed on the damn satellite_ , but there was Diana.”

Another reference. “What happened, Bruce?” Clark asked gently.

The tears hadn’t stopped. “The only reason Diana didn’t evacuate like the other super heroes were was because she was pregnant and no one knew what traveling through the atmosphere would do to the baby. The boys—they said they’d look after her. They were on a farm.” Broken Bruce met Clark’s eyes. “I surrounded that farm with alarms. I made sure they had any weapons they might need and that they couldn't do as I’d taught them and be non-lethal. It wasn’t an option anymore. And if it was just Tim and Jason I never would have allowed them to stay with Diana because while I know—knew—that Diana can kill if she needs to I also knew they can’t. But—but Damian was there.” Bruce let out a choked sob as tears streaked down his face. “When Damian first came to live with me I had to teach him  _not_ to kill. How to hold back. To see the criminal as a person—and he still had problems. I though they’d be all right.”

Bruce’s head dropped again, tears still streaming down his face. He didn’t react to them, and Clark was almost certain that he’d been crying so much that now he just didn’t notice.  He didn’t want to watch Broken Bruce hurt anymore, but he had to know what happened. “ They weren’t?” he asked softly, gently. 

“I had to go back to Gotham. Wayne Industries employs _millions_ of people, and I needed to make sure that they wouldn't be hurt when I left with my family. One day, during a board meeting I got an alert. I got out there as fast as I could, but—it was too late. I don’t know how it happened, or what force they had to deal with, but when I reached the cabin—I found what was left of Jason. Tim’s lifeless body was in the barn, where the car had been hidden. I think he tried to give them time to get away…the car was in flames. Diana and Damian were—” A sob choked Broken Bruce and he curled up on himself.

This Bruce had lost everybody. His entire family. Clark had never really been certain what the relationship between Bruce and Diana was—sometimes they squabbled like siblings and sometimes it looked like they were a hair’s breadth away from jumping into bed together—but they were still family. And Barbara, Batwoman, had been one of the children Bruce was fondest of. Learning what had happened,what the Joker had done had almost destroyed  _his_ Bruce. Native Bruce. 

An idea struck Clark with more force than a sledgehammer. He turned it over in his mind. Was it a good idea? For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t sure. He’d have to ask for another opinion.

“Are you out of your mind?” demanded Diana coldly. She glared at Clark as her hands balled into fists by her sides.

“He’s not the Bruce that hurt you, Diana,” said Clark gently.

“So what?” demanded the warrior, eyes flashing dangerously. “This Bruce might not be the one who held the knife, but they’re all the same!”

“I don’t think they are,” Clark argued, staying just as gentle.

“Don’t take that tone with me Kal-el,” said Diana, her eyes narrowing in anger. “You know what he did.”

“Not _this_ one,” Clark insisted. He turned to the other member. “What do you think, Damian?”

Only the slightest of tremors gave away the boy’s inner turmoil as he spoke. “I think that the satellite is a self-contained vessel and we will find out nothing of this—this new Batman’s plans if we do not allow him the ability to roam.”

Damian turned and looked at Diana. “And if he  _is_ roaming and does something, you can easily kill him. He’s only human.”

Diana looked thoughtful. Clark knew that what was changing her mind was the idea that she might be able to kill the man who had hurt her—even if it wasn’t the same man. “Very well,” she said tersely. “But don’t expect me to be nice just because of a sob story,” she added.


	2. Chapter 2

Despite his best efforts, Bruce’s eyes drifted closed. He could feel sleep starting to ambush him, the familiar hum of the machinery around him lulling him off. His body relaxed.

Fire danced inside his eyelids. Three sources for the fire. The car, huge and blistering. The larger body in front of it, as though it had been thrown through the windshield, flames leaping towards the safe haven of the heavens. The tiny body to the side, as though it had been thrown from the car in a futile effort to save it. The fires burning brightly, the light searing the inside of his eyes as the thick, black smoke choked the air. Burning, burning, burning—

Bruce sat up with a gasp of cool air that tasted of nothing more than the recycled air of the satellite. He was safe. Ironically, he was safe. He didn’t believe that any harm would come to him here.

“Are you all right?”

Bruce opened his eyes and met Clark’s own  impossibly bright blue ones. The Kryptonian looked worried, a reaction that Bruce wasn’t use to seeing, not after their last fight.

“ _Forget about the humans, Bruce. They don’t want any of us anymore and we will_ leave _!”_

But then, Clark had had reason to be angry. Especially after what had happened to his son…

The clang of the cell door unlocking knocked Bruce from his thoughts.  The door opened. For some reason Bruce hadn’t thought it would. “Come on, Bruce,” Clark said kindly, warmly.

Uncertain, Bruce got to his feet. “What’s going on?” he asked warily as he walked out of the cell. He paused at the threshold. Did he have the courage to leave? He knew he was safe in the cell, left alone with his—memories…

“We’ve agreed that since you’re not the Bruce that keeps trying to hurt us, that we’re going to let you roam the satellite for a bit. Get some exercise. Maybe find a place you can actually get some sleep.”

Sleep was the realm of nightmares. “I’m good,” he said firmly as he stepped outside the cell. A shudder ran through him and he wondered why he’d thought of the place as a safe haven. Maybe it was because a cell was exactly what he deserved for failing everyone. He wasn’t sure.

“Humans can’t survive without sleep, Bruce,” Clark said.

Bruce couldn't stop the low chuckle. He’d once said that to Clark, back when he’d thought the Kryptonian was nothing more than another reporter. “ One of us learned,” he said wryly.

“More than we wanted to,” Clark said softly. He reached out and offered his hand to Bruce.

Once upon a time, Bruce would have ignored it.

Once upon a time, Bruce would have simply continued on his way.

Once upon a time, he hadn’t watched his friends and family die, one by one.

Bruce slipped his hand in Clark’s outstretched one and smiled gently at the look of joy on Clark’s face before Clark tugged him towards the center of the satellite. The cores were easier to temperature control than the exterior, and Clark took Bruce to the hydroponic section. Plants were growing. On one of the trellises was the common lima bean plant.  The little plant would grow into any cracks in the side of a building, spread its leaves and held on through the late frosts of spring and still produced food. Bruce loved the plant.

Couldn’t stand the beans though, much to Alfred’s dismay.

“So you decided to show him our food supply?” demanded a harsh voice. A familiar voice. One he hadn’t expected to hear again. He whirled to see Diana. The bone deep relief he felt at the sight of her, whole and healthy, was broken as she continued to speak. “After all he’s done?” She turned her fierce glare towards him. “We’re watching you, _Bat_ ,” she spat at him. Then she whirled and stomped off before Bruce had a chance to react.

“Sorry,” Clark said. He rubbed the back of his neck, much the same way he had when the two of them had first met as reporter and playboy. “She’s—well, our Bruce hurt her, you see.”

“Oh.” Bruce sighed. “I’m glad she’s taking it easy on me,” he added.

“Oh?”

Bruce shrugged. “I’m not bleeding,” he pointed out. “Or dying. Diana can easily make both happen. I think we both know that I’m not—at my best right now.”

Clark shook his head, the cowlick flopping against his forehead. “You still have a talent for understatement. Let’s go to the bridge.” This time Clark didn’t hold his hand out for Bruce.

Bruce tried not to let it bother him. He was well known for his dislike of physical affection unless he was playing the part of the playboy—but it had been a long time since he’d touched someone. Clark was just trying to be considerate, Bruce knew. Still, he felt a little lost as he followed the Kryptonian through the satellite to the bridge.

The layout of the satellite was almost exactly the same as in his world. The only difference he could see was that the  entry doors were situated a little to the left of center, instead of being exactly in the middle. The other thing was that it was so—empty. “Where is everyone?” Bruce asked as he followed Clark.

“We had some—issues,” Clark said carefully. “When our Bruce, Native Bruce, turned on us he—there aren’t very many of us left.”

That was horrifying. This world’s Bruce had killed his friends, killed the rest of the league? How made  _was_ he? Didn’t he see what he had, what he was destroying?

Bruce was occupied by his thoughts until they reached the bridge of the satellite. Clark suddenly stopped and Bruce almost ran into the Kryptonian. Then, Clark took a single step to the side and Bruce stared.

Bruce saw Damian, primly assuring him that he was the best to guard Diana.

Bruce saw Damian, nothing more than the fuel to light a macabre fire.

Bruce saw Damian, alive—whole and healthy, just like Diana.

He didn’t even notice the tears streaming down his face until he’d pulled the boy into his arms. The warm boy. The solid boy.

It wasn’t a dream. “You’re alive,” he breathed. He could feel the softness of Damian’s hair, smell that odd desert-like scent that the boy never seemed to shed, feel the tenseness of the muscles beneath him. 

Damian let out a choked sob and hugged him back.

Bruce wasn’t actually aware of how much time had passed. Diana still glared at him when she saw him, but that was understandable. He was having trouble not hating this world’s version of himself. How could the man have so brutally hurt his own son? Didn’t he understand what a treasure the intelligent boy was?

Another, smaller part of him wondered—what if? What if they managed to make a device to send him back (something Diana assured him was still being worked on), only instead of sending him back they sent back Native Bruce? Surely the brutal monster would have no trouble fitting in with the people who’d ripped a helpless woman out of her wheelchair and torn her to pieces. Maybe Native Bruce would even learn to appreciate what he had, once he didn’t have it any more.

Preoccupied with his thoughts, he almost ran into Diana. The woman was pale, sweating, and gripping the junction between two parts of the hallway. “Are you all right?” he demanded, concerned.

She smacked his hand away. “Don’t,” she gasped, “touch—me.”

She still saw Native Bruce when she looked at him. He could understand that. “Do you want me to call Clark? Or Damian?” he asked.

“NO!” The woman’s shout echoed painfully down the hall. Her grip loosened and she slid slightly.

He knew these symptoms. He’d seen them before Diana was pregnant—and she was afraid of Bruce. “Come on,” Bruce said as he gently grabbed one of her arms and draped it over himself. “There are some crackers in the kitchen. You’ll feel better once you eat something.” She didn’t protest and he helped her to the kitchen where he got her a pack of crackers and then made her a cup of tea.

She didn’t speak again until she smelled the scent of the peppermint tea he’d made. She pinned him with a look. “You know,” she said grimly. Her hands twitched, as though she was thinking of reaching for her weapons.

“I guessed,” he said gently. He could see why she wouldn’t want _him_ to know, all things considered. “Does Clark know?”

She took a sip of her tea and grimaced. She never did like tea, he recalled. “I haven’t told him.”

“Is it…” Bruce trailed off, not knowing if he wanted to finish the sentence.

“No.” Diana’s face fell, host to an incurable internal sadness. Bruce was more than familiar with that feeling; he’d been suffering from it himself. “No it was—someone else.” Her eyes closed. “He’s not here, anymore.”

“I’m sorry.” The words, as always, were inadequate. They hadn’t helped Gordon; they hadn’t helped him. They weren’t helping Diana. But they were all he knew to say. There weren’t classes on how to deal with someone's grief—either his or other people’s.

“It is what it is,” she said sadly.

“Does Clark know?” asked Bruce, hunting desperately for another topic. She was already looking better, and he knew that the tea was helping. Of course, having been there the first time, he had known it would.

Diana snorted. “Of course Clark doesn’t know. He has far too much to do.” She met his eyes with a wry smile. “He’s ruling a globe now, you know.”

Bruce did know. He had mixed feelings about that. On the one hand he believed that no one that powerful should ever have sole control over so many people because there was no way to challenge that power. There was no check, no balance to it.

On the other hand, he’d seen what happened when someone like Clark  _wasn’t_ in charge.

“He always has time for his friends,” Bruce argued. “And you won’t be able to hide it forever.”

“No.” Diana took a sip of tea. “This is nice,” she said, surprising him. “I’ve—missed talking like this.”

Bruce smiled wearily. “I’ve missed you too, Diana.”

Bruce was in the middle of an exercise session with Damian when Clark found him.  Bruce noticed him immediately; Damian did not. Bruce had mixed feelings about that; on the one hand he wanted Damian to always be alert and aware of his surroundings so that what happened to  _his_ Damian could never happen to this one, and on the other hand—on the other hand he wanted Damian to be able to  _be_ a child. Children weren’t supposed to need perfect awareness of their surroundings all the time.

At the end of the workout the two of them bowed to each other and Bruce gently clapped the boy on the shoulder. “Good job,” he said approvingly. There was a brief moment of joy on the boy’s face before the mask of icy indifference slid back into place. 

“Thank you,” Damian said curtly. He turned and only the slightest tensing of his body betrayed that he was surprised to see Clark there. He nodded and continued to the shower room. 

Clark smiled. “I’m glad to see the two of you bonding,” he said calmly.

Bruce smiled back. After a few months he’d mostly lost that haunted feeling. Part of him still wondered if he was in a dream, a hallucination created by his mind to cope with his grief. The rest of him didn’t care. Damian and Diana were  _alive_ . And Clark was here.

Bruce noticed that Clark looked conflicted. It wasn’t an expression he wore very well. “What is it?” he asked.

Clark cleared his throat. “Diana has informed me that we will be needing—supplies,” he said.

Bruce smiled. So Diana had finally taken his advice. Well, she might have just pretended to, as she would be showing soon. “Sounds about right,” he said calmly.

“You already knew,” Clark accused.

Bruce shrugged as he grabbed a towel for his own sweat. “I’ve seen it before,” he gently reminded the Kryptonian. “I knew.”

“Why didn’t she tell me?” Clark asked, sounding lost.

Bruce could understand. Clark and Diana were like siblings, and it was hard to realize that the man whom your sibling had once hated knew such an intimate detail before he did. “She didn’t want to worry you,” Bruce explained as he rested the towel against the back of his neck. “She thought it would be a distraction, and you have a lot on your plate already.”

Clark nodded. He knew that Bruce knew he’d taken over the running of the world, but the two of them—in typical fashion—said nothing about it. They didn’t talk about how it made Bruce feel; they didn’t talk about Clark had felt the need to do so. It was probably unhealthy of them, but they  were still finding their feet together. Perhaps they’d communicate later.

Clark sighed. “I don’t want to make you do something you don’t want to,” he said. “But—would you?”

Bruce smiled. He knew exactly what Clark was asking. “Can I?” he asked. “I feel pretty certain that, ah, I don’t have the same  _qualifications_ I used to.” Which was a funny way of saying that the Bruce Wayne from this world was a wanted criminal and outlaw.

“It’ll be fine,” said Clark, relief stark on his features. “I don’t—I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“ _I_ don’t know what I’m doing,” Bruce commented dryly. He walked over to Clark until the two of them were right next to each other. He smiled. “We’ll figure it out,” he assured the Kryptonian.

Clark smiled back. “We will,” he promised fervently.

Bruce had been having a great time, despite being cornered by an old woman telling him all about her seven grandchildren and lecturing him on the importance of making sure his “wife” felt pretty while she was bloated like a whale and to remember that it was  _his_ fault she’d lost her trim figure. He’d forgotten that shopping could be fun; there was a reason he wore the playboy persona so well. After she wound down he said he’d take her advice (no point in telling her that he wasn’t the child’s father)  and purchased several of the items in her shop.

In this world the League had a credit card. Who knew? It was a good idea though. Oh, there were some corn seedlings. Clark might like those; Bruce knew he missed his parents’ farm.

He was heading towards the stall with the seedlings when he was grabbed from behind. A quick jerk and whirl and he faced—himself. The two Bruces stared at each other.

Someone dropped something and the spell was broken. Native Bruce attacked and Bruce fended him off. The two of them, by mutual accord, took their fight off the crowded street and up to a nearby rooftop. “You don’t even know what he’s done,” sneered Native Bruce.

“I know,” said Bruce.

“Oh?” The two of them circled each other. “Did he tell you how he broke into Lex’s office? How he used his laser vision to burn the man to ash? Did he tell you _that_?” Native Bruce attacked.

It was hard for Bruce to block. They moved the same way, used the same moves. Knew the same counterattacks. “Did you ever ask why?” Bruce demanded when they backed off to circle each other again, each one wary of the other. 

Native Bruce snorted. “Why is irrelevant,” he said grimly. “What’s important is that he needs to be stopped. They all do!”

“Even Damian?” demanded Bruce.

“Especially Damian!” Native Bruce attacked. “The little traitor sided with Kal-el instead of killing him like he was supposed to!”

Native Bruce had sent a child,  _his_ child, against a powerful alien. Told the boy to kill the alien. Called the boy a traitor for not doing it.

The two geared up for one last battle. One of them had nothing left to lose. One of them had everything to lose.

Only one could win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, before anyone skewers me for the ending, I'd like to point out that I'm a huge fan of "The Lady or The Tiger." So, who do you think won? Broken Bruce or Native Bruce?


End file.
